Laura Davenport, Lady Chesfield, rubbed her temples after her butler quit the drawing room. Doubtless, she was the only woman in London who had the temerity to refuse admittance to the wicked Lord Bellingham. Indeed, she suspected even the most genteel of ladies would flutter their fans and flirt outrageously with him. Since she was a vicar’s daughter, she liked to think she was made of sterner stuff. Unfortunately, she’d discovered last night that she was more than a little susceptible to the uncommonly handsome earl. She would not think about the way he’d let his gaze travel over her body last evening at the ball. Most certainly, she would not dwell on the way her skin had heated while he’d perused her. Above all, she would banish the illicit fantasies that had danced in her head while she’d tossed and turned in bed last night. Even if she wanted to dally with the notorious earl, she would not dare, especially after receiving the scathing letter earlier from her stepson’s guardian.
